


As she Breathed

by autumn_soldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Confusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Original Female Character - Freeform, Origins, Paranoia, Vessels, backstories, demon/angel, established meg/cas, meatsuit/demon communication, meg/cas, partnerships, vessel/angel communication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumn_soldier/pseuds/autumn_soldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Begins after the events of Goodbye Stranger, (S8 EP17) Meg wakes up in a new vessel in a motel somewhere, and the only thing she knows, is her unicorn isn't there beside her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Who the Hell am I wearing?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is another gift fic, this time for my better half. this is a reflection of my own fandom and my interests, and this is once again a ship I didn't ship, but have been made to ship over time. I hope you all will like it, stay tuned for chapter 2.

Meg sat straight up so fast she gave herself headrush. It wasn’t the unrealistic way like in the movies, she didn’t sit bolt upright. She sat up the way one does from a nightmare. Quickly, slippery hands clutching the blankets at her sides, sweat making her eyes sting, and breath coming in quick little bursts that made her borrowed heart sputter.

“Fuck….”

Soon, as the laboured breathing and immediate headache began to subside, came the inevitable question: “Where am I?”, “Who am I wearing?” etc. Regular demon stuff.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes and twisting round, sitting on the edge of her bed...or whatever bed she was currently occupying. It was grubby, and the fabric kinda smelled...interesting. Thank god she was a low-life demon with no morals or (apparently) hygienic standards.

It took Meg a second to work out her surroundings, but she got there. Motel room. Small, with a nasty looking bathroom, the old walls having probably seen far too much during their time. Double bed, large window which showed she was in a ground floor room, chair, that was it. As she cautiously stood to assess her state, she found she was in perfect condition...but this was not her regular meatsuit. Her hips jutted out more, she felt heavier, and the hair that invaded her peripheral vision was curly.

Then was the question of the body. She made her way to the scummy bathroom, standing infront of the mirror. As she was doing so, the meatsuit girl groggily stirred inside her, and Meg scowled at the familiar feeling of the host of the body beginning to scratch for leverage.

“Well hey there..” She muttered in greeting, surveying herself in the mirror. Good body, toned and lean, African-American looks and a two-piece mini dress that she actually took a liking to.

 _Wh-who are you?! What happened?_ The girl inside demanded, and Meg raised an eyebrow, muting her.

“Stay down for now, sweetie. I’ll deal with you later.”

Later? what about now? Meg took the liberty of checking her pockets for a phone, ID, something. Nothing, just a pair of keys and a pre-wrapped candy. Well...it wasn’t nothing.

She tried to think back to the last thing she remembered, which was…

_Go save your brother...And my unicorn._

That definitely wasn’t the meatsuit talking. It was her...she’d been talking to Sam about...about protecting Dean and...and...

"Cas." She said, but Meg didn't say it like a name. It was more than just a name, just as the one it belonged to was more than just a person. A thousand questions, affection, admiration, concern, all rolled into that one, dumb, condensed little abbreviation. And suddenly she knew exactly what she was doing.

The meatsuit resumed her groans when Meg set out to leave, unlocking the room to find her way down the hall. No...she didn’t want company, and waking up alone in a room in a strange meatsuit she didn’t remember acquiring wasn’t doing much for her paranoia. She hitched herself  to the edge of the window to the parking lot.

 _Where are we going, What’s happening?!_ The girl wailed.

“Hush your whining.” Meg snapped quietly, jumping out to begin walking, skulking in the shadows, head down. It was midday, she had to be careful.

_No, who are you, where are we going?!_

Meg stopped at a bus station, catching the eye of a young mother with kids, and a wallet sticking out of her pocket. Perfect.

“To find my unicorn.” She said simply, before unwrapping the candy, putting it in her mouth and moving forward to reach for the wallet.

 


	2. "Long Time No See"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel considers all he knows, and receives an unexpected surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me roughly two hours and I loved every second. One of my main aims during this fic is to to put a spotlight on some of the vessels of supernatural, and give development to the angels, so if you don't think you're into that, this is not the fic for you. We'll be ready to move on with the narrative in chapter 3.

Castiel turned his head to the side, stretching the neck before it had a chance to cramp. It wasn’t as if he would feel the pain, but more like Jimmy would thank him. Jimmy was always was sure to thank him, whether it was for kindly avoiding the gas stove when Dean or Sam were preparing food, or simply leaving the window open on a hot day. Castiel had come aware of the tiny, intricate catastrophes that occur daily within sensation alone. And with every small sigh, or occasional sharp wince from his vessel, he had become more considerate, until they grew to resemble a single, conscientious unit. As one.

_Thank you_. The vessel breathed, and Castiel inclined his head.

“You are welcome, James.”

A small chuckle breached the small space within their shared mind, where both of their consciousness met. Behind the wall that contained Jimmy, Castiel imagined him heaving his broken form to lean against it, and now he was laughing weakly.

_ James is my father. I’m Jimmy. _

“Is it a breach of etiquette to call a person their father’s name?” Castiel asked, their head cocking to the side.

Where the vessel was, there was a small noise, almost a click. In Castiel’s imagination, Jimmy had gritted his teeth.

_...not with any father but mine. _

Castiel decided to leave this conversation for another day. He stood up, walking over to the small kitchen, where left the remains showing, clear as day, that Dean had been there earlier. Incase the Winchesters sleeping form on the motel bed hadn’t been enough proof for him. Empty beer bottles, half-empty bottle of scotch, and a protein shake. Untouched. Sam was out for the night.

The older Winchester was sleeping soundly, just ahead of where Cas had been standing.There was barely any room in the motels they stayed in, always offering an excuse for Cas to stick close to him. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t because of his affection for the Winchesters, though there was certainly no shortage of this. It was because all humans, every single one, had a colour.

While growing up, Castiel’s brothers had informed him it was because of their souls, giving off light and a slight, glowing hue. All of which was individual and unique to each person; although many families shared a specific shade to look out for.

This was how angels found their vessels. When an angel was created, they were taken to an Elder in one of the Seraphim garrisons, and a Seraph assigned a colour. They never ran out of them, for a human's capacity to see different shades of light is limited. An angels, however, is not. There are thousands upon millions of tiny shards in the true colour spectrum, and each one - or most of them - links back to an angel.

The colour would correspond to a human. And this human passed on the colour through their bloodline, sometimes for generations, until finally that angel’s specific vessel was born, and could be used. Castiel had waited five centuries for Jimmy, and he’d been fortunate to not wait longer.

The colour would start out muddy, and barely possible to distinguish. Then, as that human bred another human, the colour became more pure, and with every step further and further down the family tree it became cleaner and brighter until it was ready. Before the war in heaven, the day an angel got their vessel was a joyous and happy occasion. There would be celebration within the garrison, it was something of a coming of age festival.

There would be sun and clear skies and rainbows stretching for months after. It was called an angel’s Golden Day. The day they could first leave heaven.

Dean’s colour was ripe and vibrant, for he was a chosen vessel. It was some variation of shade, the tint the humans called ‘red’. Wherever Dean went, his assigned angel was watching, for they were two halves of a whole. Never separate, always a step away from one another.  It should have been somewhat comforting, had Dean’s angel not been Michael.

Cas sighed, taking a seat again, legs restless and willful to move erratically. He knew for sure Jimmy would not appreciate that.

_What’s wrong?_ The vessel coughed out, lifting his bloodied head in the dark. _You’re troubled._

“I’m troubled?” Castiel echoed, confused. “How?”

_ I dunno how or why, but your mind’s moving a thousand miles a minute. I’ve learned more about angelic history in the last ten minutes than I ever did in Sunday school. _

Another dry chuckle. Jimmy was in a good mood tonight.

Castiel considered the possibility, stretching out their legs.

“I...have had something on my mind, and am attempting to suppress it.”

_ Why are you doing that? _

“Because reliving the memory causes an...inexplicable discomfort.”

Jimmy’s pained head rolled in an understanding nod. _You’re hurting._

“I suppose I am.”

Jimmy and Cas sat in silence for a moment. Castiel brooding quietly, and Jimmy tentatively reaching out to prod in their shared memories. The intrusion made the angel hiss.

“What are you doing in there?”

_Stretching._ Jimmy answered dryly, poking back to look. There is a place in every human’s mind where each and every moment of their life is stored in memory, to be looked upon when their bodies die, to determine where they are headed. Gabriel tended to jokingly refer to it as a ‘highlight reel’. Castiel had dominated Jimmy’s highlight reel somewhat for the last few years. This allowed his vessel to share it with him.

_Ah._ Jimmy affirmed quietly, when he reached the particular spot of film where the offending culprit sat. That was the memory, the group of a thousand still images to create a picture, a moment. A collection of a billion nanoseconds, all stored in one frame, to be computed through a human’s eyes and translated through the brain. The process was nothing if not fascinating, despite this one causing a twist in Cas’ heart.

_Crowley’s blade sliced up, like a butchers meat hook, spearing her on it and causing her neck to snap back, surprised face exposed, eyes soon to become empty. Rosebud mouth falling open in shock, twisting with pain. Crowley dropped her like a discarded item, and she fell lifeless in the dirt._

_ Castiel stood by the door of the warehouse, unable to move, just after it had occurred...or at least, he told himself that. _

Jimmy released a low whistle, retreating from that bad memory, wounded hands up.

_ You had feelings for her. _

“Of course I did.”

_ No, I don’t mean feelings that you receive when she was in your presence. Everyone has the ability to make you feel, but she made you feel different. Didn't she? _

“...Yes.”

_ That’s why you’re in pain. You miss her feeling, and you need time to heal from that. _

Castiel missed her colour, too.

“I only wish I had-”

He shook their head, forcing sleepy legs to stand.

“I want to take a walk.” It was hardly necessary he announce every intention, but it was more than that. It was an opportunity for Jimmy to say ‘No, I’m tired’, or ‘No, I don’t want to.’ It was more like a hidden request for permission.

The poor, wounded vessel man nodded tiredly, slumping down and curling himself into a position that, were he not almost entirely broken, would have been called comfortable. His eyelids fluttered closed, and then his sounds stopped entirely. Jimmy was sleeping, and had handed over the body to Castiel in it’s entirety.

Castiel left the room, quietly shutting it behind him and making his way down the stairs to the landing, and then again. He felt a twinge of guilt for Jimmy’s muscles, but at the moment he needed to walk. He needed to move, and move until he could no longer do so, perhaps until the physical body which shackled him reached the point of total separation from touch, transcending into a condition where he could keep running until all memory became lost, and he could leave them behind, shedded. Forgotten.

Never forgotten.

He stepped outside into the dark cement, ducking out of the shadows and looking around. It was dusk, and the stores were closing, mothers ushering their children inside. Dean and Sam had checked in the previous day, and Castiel had not stopped to consider the environment before mindlessly following them. The Winchester’s personal angel.

Had he done so, he would have realised the city itself was visually pleasing. It almost reminded him of his heaven back home, not visually of course, but in atmosphere. Calm, quiet, almost remote. He began to miss the autistic man and his kite.

He never became aware that he was standing in the centre of a sidewalk, at least until a dark form crashed into him, shrouded in the shadows around it. Castiel frowned, lifting himself up to view the individual. Tall, athletic, dark-skinned and with the symmetrical features and specific body-type that the modern world had chosen to brand as attractive. He stepped back to allow the girl room to move, she seemed to be in need of her breath back.

When he did so, the girl’s hands reached out to grab him, holding his wrists in her grip. Castiel flexed - it would be easy to shake her off, but he wanted to first determine that she was a threat before causing her damage.

“Ma’am, what do you want?” He demanded clearly, ready to replace his words with another language in case she did not understand. The girl blinked her big doe-eyes at him once, and then her lips pulled back from perfect teeth to grin.

**  
** “Hey there, Clarence. Long time no see."


	3. "Her name is Meg Masters"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy

Dean awoke to the sounds of loud banging on the door, accompanied by harsh breathing. Not Sam, he had that whole unnaturally healthy thing goin’ on. Plus kid was out for the count, he’d apparently returned while he was sleeping, and was sprawled out on the motel sofa, dwarfing the damn thing.

“Dean!” Called a voice, one that rumbled deeply, like gravel and thunder. Dean passed a hand over his face, recognising it immediately. Swinging his legs out of bed and wincing at the rough carpet beneath them, he stumbled blearily in the direction of the noise, pausing to swig from the scotch bottle he’d discarded a couple hours earlier. At least...he was pretty sure he’d only been asleep a couple hours.

“Comin’, Cas.” He grumbled, searching for his jeans, not having remembered throwing them across the Pacific freakin’ ocean before he went to bed. Sam startled awake, rolling off the couch entirely and landing on his ass, making a face.

“Whassamarrer?!” Sam groaned, knuckling his eyes like a little boy. Sammy looked roughly six years old when he was tired, all puffy eyes and yawns big enough to make his jaw click. Dean threw him the shirt he’d just found, seeing it to be giant sized, therefore not belonging to him.

“Relax, speedy gonzales. Cas is outside, get yourself dressed.” He muttered.

Sam screwed his face up, rolling over and pulling the quilt over his head. Evidently Samuel would not be getting up to greet Cas this morning.

Thumps on the door, like a starving man banging down the windows of a grocery store. He must be hurt,but why didn’t he just zap in like usual? not that Dean was complaining, he valued the moment to cover himself.

“M’comin! Jeez, hold it, what could have happened that is _so_ important-”

Dean opened the door. Cas stood there before him, and in his arms, unconscious was a tall toned chick who looked like she’d run a couple marathons...damn, she was a looker. And she had one hell of a bruise on her forehead, obviously having been knocked out.

“Who is she, how bad’s she hurt?” He demanded at once, instinct to protect the civilian hitting him.

“I am unsure. She may have concussion, though.” Cas answered, walking in and depositing the girl - oddly gently - on Dean’s bed. Hearing the urgent words roused Sam, who sat up immediately and pulled his shirt over his head.

“What happened to her?” He chimed in, crossing the room to check the girl’s pulse. She didn’t move, but her eyelids fluttered, a frown creasing on her forehead. Yeah, a blow to the head would do that to ya.

“She ran into me and then fainted. I did not notice her injury until afterward, so I brought her back here.”

There was something in Cas’ voice that made both Dean and Sam’s ears prick up, turning to look at him. His voice wasn’t it’s usual confused tone, though that was certainly there. It was laced with something like concern, or worry. He was anxious for this particular girl.

“Do we know who she is?” Sam asked, gently bringing the girl into an upright position, just incase she was drunk. She gave a low moan, but made no other sounds or gave signs of waking. Girl was out cold.

“Yes.” Cas said matter-of-factly, crossing to the girl’s other side, and taking her hand, pressing it between both of his.

“...Her name is Meg Masters.”

**************************************************

“Meg?!”

Dean’s voice was incredulous, his face squinting into the shape it usually made when he was one of three things. Angry, defensive, or disbelieving. Evidently this was the latter.

Castiel wet his lips, pushing the hair from Meg’s brow. He was growing to like the new vessel, however he sincerely hoped she had asked for consent before entry. The vessel herself was shining away within, obviously relatively new. Her colour was a colour he could only compare to saffron, a deep amber gold that pulsed with every heartbeat, threads of orange weaving through. She was sleeping.

“Yes, you hear me correctly.”

“How can you tell? I mean, you got your spidey senses tingling when you see a demon, but how do you know specifically?”

Cas suppressed the impulse to roll his eyes at Dean. Ever doubtful, of himself and all others. Not that he was without his reasons.

“She called me by name, and not all demons look alike, Dean.”

It was true. Demons had a nasty appearance to them, but most were individual. Regular demons, the black-eyed ones, had twisted faces with pointed teeth, hooked claws and paper-thin bat wings that jutted from their spines freakishly. Seeing one for the first time had almost alarmed him. Meg’s face was more pointed, and the claws that were her hands were more hooked, cheekbones that pushed out from her face were sharper. He’d recognised her the second she had named him. That was, when she stepped into the light.

“...okay, so what’s she doing here?” Sam asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know, she did not tell me.”

Dean frowned, seating himself and upending the bottle of scotch; his apparent answer to every question or conundrum. Castiel shuddered every time he thought of what it was doing to his liver, and he had replaced his alcoholic beverages with 0% alternatives more than once before.

“Well, looks like we wait til she comes to, then we find out.”

“What about the girl she’s in, you think she’s ok?” Sam asked, concerned. Castiel admired Sam’s care towards the chosen vessels of those they hunted, and it was more common for him now to ask Castiel to revive them after he disposed of their tenants. They didn’t always make it, but sometimes he managed to raise them. Sometimes.

Castiel pressed two fingers to Meg’s forehead, drawing information from the vessel. His eyebrows raised.

“Her name is Nita Chahine. Medical student, studies in New York city, she was here on a hiking trip with a few friends. She is fine, if rather...emotionally scrambled.”

When he pulled his hand away, the bruise flattened and smoothed out, leaving Nita’s face unmarked. Inside, he could feel the vessel beginning to rouse, making a number of upset noises he would prefer not to acknowledge. The guilt would overthrow him if he let it.

“Do we not know anything about how Meg survived? or how she even found us?” The younger Winchester pushed.

“I have no answers. She saw me and identified me before losing consciousness. After that you are up to date.” Cas snapped, close to wringing his hands. He was experiencing emotions he was not comfortable with.

“..Cas, you ok?” Deans voice asked him from behind, still sitting and watching him through piercing eyes. His colour pulsed, as the hunter grew interested, and there was that crimson flash of concern. He worried for him. Sometimes Cas could see why so many of their foes insisted there was something...other than friendship between himself and Dean Winchester.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well...you guys did have a thing last time we checked, and you seemed pretty torn up after we told you she was gone.” Sam chimed in, standing up from the bed. His own colour began to move, even more concerned than his brother. The younger hunter and the angel looked out for one another.

Something about the word “gone” in reference to Meg affected him, especially now, just as it proved untrue. Some ridiculous notion deep inside him made him want to clamp a hand over Sam’s mouth, to stop the word. Just in case it caused them to come true again.

He managed to refuse this particular impulse.

“What has already passed is not of import.” He said, focusing his eyes on a stain on the wallpaper to his right.

“All  that matters now is she has returned.”

“Well, we’ll see what went on when she gets up. Til then…”

Before Castiel could turn to frown at Dean, curious for the last part of his sentence, before he heard the distinct click of a pair of handcuffs. At once he was at Meg’s side, where Dean had secured her wrist to the bedpost at her head.

“Dean, what is the meaning of this?” He demanded, anger tainting his voice as he went at once to release the cuffs, but Dean’s hand was in the way.

“Out of my way, Dean!”

“Gotta do what I gotta do, Cas. If she wakes up volatile I don’t want it to be my problem.”

“Your actions are completely misguided!” Castiel snapped, voice rising as something inside him inspired it. He was angry. This feeling...it was rage.

“Well, you would know.” Dean raised a brow, hand not moving from Meg’s trapped wrist. Castiel could always release them with strength alone, but if Dean held on, he would be damaged. He would not have that.

“Move your hand, Dean.”

“No.”

“ _Dean_.”

The hunter pulled back, exchanging a look with Sam, who, like Cas, seemed displeased and angered by this action as well. He released Meg’s wrist and hand, allowing Cas to move forward.

“So you _are_ carrying a torch for her.”

Cas ground Jimmy’s teeth together. An immature test to see how he would react, to determine his true feelings towards Meg. The handcuff would not have hurt her, however the image of her confined affected him negatively, in a way it would not in the absence of those feelings.

“Dean, quit being a dick.” Sam muttered, moving to help Cas release the catch on the cuff. Cas allowed this, freeing her slim hand and laying it on her chest. The vessel groaned, then fell back into slumber. Evidently the tight cuff was more painful than he had thought.

“What now?” He demanded, staying close by her, shielding her. Dean shrugged, tossing Sam a beer. His brother took it quietly, ignoring him, and sitting opposite Cas beside the bed.

“Looks like we wait til she wakes up. She can tell us what she was runnin’ from, there’s obviously something we don’t know about.”

“So we just...sit here?”

“That’s usually the human gig. Unless...um, do you want anything?”

The question was nonsensical, that is it, if it had been applied to the angel. He pulled back inside his consciousness, nudging at Jimmy to wake, replaying the question again. Jimmy pricked his head, up, holding his stomach and nodding. Castiel lifted his own head to affirm:

“We could eat.”


	4. "Nobody calls them computer games anymore."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg gets acquainted with her new vessel. Filler chapter and catch-up, more narrative to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading

Meg didn’t sleep very well. Not that she usually did, so it wasn’t like twisting and turning like a damn drunk dolphin was gonna take any getting used to. The new vessel was young, and chafing; Nita (cute name) scratching away from the inside all night long, and it would have been annoying if...if Meg wasn't starting to feel a little weird about having jumped an innocent girl and using her as a meatsuit.

She dismissed these thoughts with ease. Dumb feelings, she’d been around the Winchesters too long already.

_“Hi, my name’s Meg, I’m a demon.”_ She heard herself saying. What could anyone expect? she was a child of The Devil built to serve her creator, and that didn’t always involve retrieving little lost kittens and selling girl scout cookies. The old defense still brought her a thick, dark blanket to scoot under.

Weirdly enough, weird feelings had started when she used that exact phrase to excuse herself to Sammy, when he called her out, challenging her for letting innocent people die. Meg had to admit, she’d had quite the soft spot for Moosechester back in the day, and she still annoyingly did care about what he had to say.

...Meg really hadn’t liked the way his face looked when she’d said that. Sam had made the same face at her a thousand times, cause the kid was like a freaking Greenpeace advocate and got his silk panties in a twist whenever anyone was mean. But that time, and a couple other times, recently, it had been different.

She wasn’t yet ready to admit that she was starting to feel guilty.

_ You’re going to hell… _

Delightful. Nita was waking up, after having tuckered herself out screaming about eight hours back when Meg had woke up. She’d been locked in some motel room with a very bossy note (which, by the way, was just trademark Sammy Winchester) instructing her not to leave. She saw no reason to do so. Her wound had been treated and the bed was comfy.

It was no surprise the vessel girl was scared. While reminiscing, Meg’s mind brought up images, memories all back, like a horror picture show flashing in her eyes that she couldn’t turn off. It was hardly expected for her to react positively.

“Go back to sleep, sweetie. I dunno if the movies started covering the highs and lows of demonic possession, but sleep’s one of the biggest pros, or so I’m told.”  Meg muttered, rolling over and curling up. One of the losechesters had given her a big plaid thing while she was out, and she was starting to get why Winchesters and lesbians loved them so much. She hoped it was Sam’s, Dean's whisky smell was better appreciated when she didn't feel like death.

_ When are you gonna let me go? What do I have to do?!  _ Nita wailed, pounding her fists on the walls. Meg tried not to give her the satisfaction of wincing.

“This isn’t a freaking computer game, little girl. You can’t complete level 5 and vanquish the monster, because, unfortunately for you, this is a lifetime deal - well, if you can call it that. I’m just damn sure hoping the fact that we _both_ just got attacked on account of something _I_ have done, brings into perspective to you just how little you really matter in this arrangement. I’m a reckless bitch who means business, and this is my body now.”

Wow. Rants like that made her lips all dry. It was a couple minutes of static before the vessel raised her head again. Rolling her stiff neck back and closing her eyes to the pain in her skull.

**  
** _Nobody calls them computer games anymore._


	5. "You know you can always count on me, Clarence."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg wakes up to find an angel watching over her. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished the rough draft of this chapter on a ferry back from the Netherlands, and I got so into it I didn't look up again until I was back in UK. Thank you for your support, and this is for my pretty demon girl who this fanfic was gifted to

When Meg awoke she was lying on some seedy motel bed, recognisable by the smell of cigarettes and lingering sense of depravity. Her unfamiliarly long legs popped out from the covers at the foot of the bed, chilling her bare feet. This sensation triggered a quick self-assessment. Her (borrowed) shoes and socks had been removed, as had her jacket, and been replaced with a jumbo-sized plaid number that reeked of good life choices. So, Sammy Winchester must be nearby.

Her belt had been loosened, and her new lanky body had been rolled into the recovery position, with a large pillow propped up behind her neck. As Meg groggily woke up, she began to register a dull ache at her wrist, coupled by a red bracelet of pressure-marks. She elected to find the reason behind that later on.

She wasn’t granted a moment of blessed quiet before Nita's infernal sobbing began again.

In her own mind’s prison, Nita Chahine hammered at the walls inside their mind, pummelled Meg’s mental barriers with her fists, shrieking about some mother who needed surgery, and an unfortunate younger brother awaiting her arrival at some airport. Due to recent developments, he’d have to wait quite a while.

“Shut _up_.” Meg hushed her wearily, pressing a hand to her throbbing skull and reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the grubby bedside table. A cool hand caught her wrist in motion, and Neela fell quiet with their mutual surprise.

Luckily, Meg knew the owner of that cool hand.

“You should not be drinking that.” Castiel rumbled slowly, his voice granite and amber-honey.

“Your vessel is concussed, and the poor girl you’re currently inhabiting is scared out of her mind. You should remain hydrated.”

Meg grinned at the angel’s fatherly concern on behalf of her meat suit, slapping his ass unceremoniously while he leaned over to pour her a glass of water. The pitcher he was using was covered with a thin layer of condensation, he’d obviously been keeping it on ice for them. Inside her head, Meg felt Nita scream for it.

Cas’ eyebrows raised at the slap.

“If you are attempting to unsettle me, you will not succeed.” He assured her dryly, handing over the glass.

“That’s because I’m not tryin’ hard enough yet.” Meg slurred in lazy response, knocking back the icy glass in a second, then feeling her skull radiate with pain. She contorted her new face, and Castiel frowned.

“Are you all-right?”

Meg hissed, giving him the glass back.

 _I have sensitive teeth._ Nita affirmed meekly.

Castiel sighed with relief that neither Meg nor Nita were seriously harmed, and took a seat on the bed parallel to the one Meg currently occupied. She didn’t miss the giant pair of shoes by the foot of it, making it Sam’s bed. So the one she had was Dean’s. That would explain the massive whiskey bottle the guy spooned every night. God, the Winchesters had some issues.

“Where’s Moose and Happy Tree Friend?” She enquired conversationally. As ever, the Seraph remained oblivious to her many references.

“I do not know, but in case that was a joke, Sam is interviewing the family of a werewolf attack victim, and Dean is draining the local bar at 9 o’clock in the morning.”

“ _Winchesters._ ” Meg muttered. Another thought entered her mind at that.

“So, why am I here? I was looking for you, how did Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Tall get their plaid boots into this?”

Castiel sighed. He truly was their lap dog – the angel practically winced when the two were insulted in front of him. It was a good thing they were friends…or had been.

“You were searching for me, weren’t you? When you did, I was with Sam and Dean, so I took you to their motel room. After I recognised you in your stolen skin, that is.” He added, peevishly.

“You ever thought about seeing a doctor about that stick up your ass?”

Castiel shook his head in disapproval. Meg made to stand up for another painful glass of water, but the ground tilted under her and her vision blurred, next thing the demon was conscious of was the smell of smell of pine and old spice cologne.

Castiel looked down at Meg pressed to his chest, strong arms like pillars keeping her upright.

“I told you your vessel was concussed, do you take none of the advice I attempt to give?” He asked gently, scooping her up to take a seat in the rickety chair by the window, supported on his knee. Meg hummed contentedly, arms lifting to sit at his shoulders and tightening to hold him closer. Castiel did not pull away.

“Who is she?” He asked her quietly, referring to her meat suit.

“Some chick on an art trip, comes from overseas. I guess I just extended her stay in the US.”

At the mirth in Meg’s words, Nita's consciousness reared it’s annoying head and began to scream, raising the usual alarm bells once more. Meg grimaced, but after a moment, Castiel’s palm was at her forehead and he whispered to her in a language Meg would need a semester in community college to understand, before the girl sank into uneasy rest.

“Thanks, Clarence.”

“Your vessel is afraid and injured because of you, did you not explain your situation earlier?” He asked quietly.

“She knows her ass is mine now, that should be enough.” Meg returned, snuggling into his front to rest there. After only a brief hesitation, a cool hand ran it’s long fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, soothing both her and the sleeping Nita. And perhaps the angel, too.

“We will discuss your abuse of your vessel another time.” He sighed, defeated and retreating. For now.

“Well, enough about me.” Meg grinned, deliberately slumping so that she was closer to Castiel, forcing him to support her with both arms. Accidentally, of course.

“How’s that bible-thumping meat suit of yours doing? John or Jehovah or Jerry…”

“ _Jimmy_ is fine.” Castiel snapped, emphasising the true name of his vessel that Meg had been deliberately ignoring. His blue eyes wandered as he conversed silently with the co-owner of his mind. Meg never understood why he chose to do that…to keep the link between him and his vessel permanently open. He didn’t have to, in fact it was pretty much the done thing to keep ‘em quiet, in demonic and angel culture alike. It was so much easier to function without the constant discourse, the crying, whining, begging…ugh. It was hideously distracting, but Cas made an effort. The soldier obviously maintained an equal and ongoing relationship, and constant stream of close communication with Jimmy Novak, thus somehow managed to maintain their sanity. The partnership wasn’t worth a fraction of the effort it took, in Meg’s personal opinion. Oh well, whatever floats your co-existing boat.

“He says he would like you to relinquish your hold on the girl you pirated.” Castiel informed her, after blinking to cease the mental heart-to-heart.

“Sorry not sorry, but no can do.” Meg replied flippantly. “I came here to find you and ask for your help. Can’t have some annoying human dragging under my feet all the time, that’s just plain unprofessional.”

“ _Don’t talk about her that way.”_ Castiel snapped irritably, but there was an unsettling density to his voice. Vaguely unnerved, Meg realised that this effect was the result of both Cas and Jimmy speaking together. As weirdly hot as that was, the demon held up her hands.

“Sorry, Jim-Clarence hybrid. I’ll be more sensitive in future about the bag of blood and bones I’m walking around in.”

Cas shook his head ruefully, but despite his annoyance, his lips carried the beginnings of a smile. He’d missed her, it seemed.

“Your level of respect for others remains unimproved.” He noted, words coated with thin affection that the demon-girl did not overlook.

“You know you can always count on me, Clarence.” She winked.

“I could not count on anything less.” He returned.

His sombre words hung in the air for a moment or two, before his hand found hers and pressed.

“But I am glad you are alive, so you may live to disrespect me again.”

She hummed, leaning into his chest to find a soft spot for a nap. At least until the Winchesters returned to discuss her purpose for being here. Oh, that would be fun with a headache…

“Thank you, Castiel.” She whispered, before falling into a dull and restless slumber, but one she was happy to be in. And as the angel sat, with the demon on his knee, running his hands through the hair that wasn’t hers, he was content. More so than he had been for some time…and he’d been alive for so very long.


End file.
